


Blackhand

by IllogicalLogician



Category: Thief (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Thief (2014), Thief AU, deus ex-esque story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 20:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1911882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllogicalLogician/pseuds/IllogicalLogician
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hands are the most important tool to a thief. Robbed of one, the other is near useless.</p>
<p>The Thief-Taker General cuts off one of Garrett's hands, and the Master Thief must adapt, using the mechanical eye found in the basement of Moira Asylum to find the means of his recovery. </p>
<p>"He was nothing if he was not a thief. Without both of his hands he couldn't be."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blackhand

Garrett came to the Crippled Burrick in the small hours of the morning with a haunted look in his eyes and an even more solemn set to his shoulders. Basso was about to scold him for _flying through the window_ like his own old Magpie, when he paused-- the ghost had actually taken a seat and settled there without a word. The silence was a given, but the lack of blatant scaring the shit out of the tavern owner wasn't.

"Rough night, ain't it?" Basso set a tankard on the table, knowing full and well that the tavern's resident thief wouldn't touch it. Still, it was his own form of showing consideration. He had no idea what the man had been through _that night_ \-- hell, _any_ night, but it couldn't have been pretty. The riots and fires had been a clear indicator of that much. It was all Basso could do to leave Garrett be and return to his work-- a tavern didn't run itself.

When Basso cleared out the stragglers from the night and closed for the day, he was surprised to see Garrett still sitting-- as still and as pensive as he was before. Basso sighed. The master thief was as complicated as the stunts he pulled.

Basso sat at Garrett's table. Still, he elicited no response.

"Well, out with it. Clearly you want to say something, so go ahead and say it." Silence. Basso was about to get up and catch some sleep when Garrett mumbled, words as quiet and hard to grasp as the shadows he cloaked himself in.

"Do you ever think that you're going crazy, Basso?" The latter did a double take.

"You're asking _me_?" Garrett grimaced. "What is it, Garrett?"

"Erin's alive."

"Is she?"

"I..." The night with Orion and Erin and the _Primal_ still burned in his psyche as a brand behind his eyes. He'd been in _so much pain_ \-- Erin's channeled through him as the Primal was finally extracted from her-- and the Echoes were no comfort beforehand. Garrett still couldn't discern what had been real and what hadn't-- _how_ he'd made it out of the Asylum alive and whether or not he'd made the right choice as he was faced with giving Erin the means to her salvation and downfall _again._

"Garrett." What he'd seen that night shouldn't have been _possible_ \-- yet there he sat, two differently colored eyes and memories that stuck with them as fervently as he tried to remember the last _year._ Sometimes, he wondered if it was better that he had forgotten. The creatures underneath Moira Asylum had told him as much. "Hey, if she is alive, that means her ghost wasn't haunting you." Basso's words broke Garrett from his reverie.  Words would not help him cope, or think, or anything that was conducive to his life _returning to normal_. At that point, it was all he wanted. Garrett stood.

"You look like hell, Basso. You should get some rest." Without another word, he turned, melding to the shadows and disappearing before Basso could respond. He sighed; if anything could rest his conscience about the thief, it was that he still offered few words and even fewer chances to speak. Whatever went on up in that head of his, Basso wasn't sure he wanted to know.

***

Garrett returned to his clock tower, and when he failed to fall asleep, he wandered. First over rooftops, then through deserted streets, he finally settled into brooding atop one of the highest beams within the clock tower. There was something that he just _couldn't shake_ \-- if Erin was alive, was she still out there, would she kill again, would she steal again, _will I see you again?_ What of the Primal? There was no way that such vast power would disappear because of _that night_.

The Primal was out there, floating through air and time and between the cracks in stone and wood-- Garrett couldn't place whether it was fear or merely unease that rifled his calm. The Queen of Beggars had said he would save the City-- he hardly had it in him to save one of the only people he'd let himself become attached to, yet he had the creeping feeling that the City still had yet to be saved.

He spent weeks scouting the City, finding prime targets for robbery, observing the City and its inhabitants as patrons, rather than _people_. The sentiment kept nagging at him, making a regret that he'd never felt before make him pause before snagging someone's coin purse, or breaking into someone's hidden safe or robbing a local gang leader blind. The gloom had robbed every one of them of so much, who was he to take what little they had left?

_A thief, that's who_.

Eventually, Garrett relented and paid a visit to Basso, seeking jobs that may finally pull him out of his deprecating, sentimental spiral that he'd somehow managed to fall into.

"There's nothing, Garrett." Basso shrugged, yet there was a hesitance that made Garrett push for more information. He folded his arms, shifting his weight to one foot, giving the tavern owner an incredulous look.

"There's always _something_ , Basso." Basso sighed, putting his hands on his hips.

"There is one possible..."

"Tell me."

"There isn't a whole lot of support to its legitimacy. Usually with vague offers like this, I'd throw it aside and ask for a better client. Don't you have anything from Ector or Vittori you could do?"

"Vittori's circus moved to the next city, and Ector's been quiet since I found his metal man's heart. I'm out of things to steal, Basso."

"You're about as restless as 'ol Jenivere was, Garrett." Garrett's gaze on Basso didn't waver.

"Fine. You can take the job. Don't say I didn't warn you. I'll give you the location and the loot you're looking for."

"What is it?"

"I've caught wind of rumors about a priceless necklace, hidden in a safe in one of South Quarter's houses. Adorned with jewels that rival the Heart of the Lion in their worth. If that doesn't fill your pockets, I don't know what will." The peculiar gleam Garrett's eyes had had not a few moments before was gone, replaced by the excited glint that usually accompanied Garrett as he took a job. The Master Thief was to be on the prowl, and Basso couldn't help but smirk at how contented the man looked.

Garrett was filled with the relative thrill of the heist, finally feeling as if he was comfortable in his own skin again. He crouched on the edge of a rooftop, across from the apartment he was to steal the priceless necklace from. The place was scarcely guarded, no barred windows, _too easy these days_. Garrett flexed his hands-- his left had finally healed so that he didn't need to stitch and bandage it. It was scarring, yet Garrett felt little attachment to the relative beauty of his skin. Scars were a part of the job.

He dropped to street level, ducking behind shadows and making his way to the nearest window.

Once inside, he tensed as he listened for any movement on the floor above him or below him. After scouring the place, the safe sat behind a painting on the top floor. Some more searching led to him finding the safe's combination. _People were so ready to write down their secrets._ It was going so s _moothly_ until Garrett stepped in front of the painting.

The tell-tale _click_ of an engaged trap made Garrett freeze, bracing for the torrent of fire that entailed the piercing of skin, muscle, and bone.

Garrett grit his teeth, yet nothing came. He looked down, the remnant Primal energy that still focused his right eye turned the panel below his feet an angry red. Garrett frowned. _A lucky break?_ It was too simple. A tight, yet subdued coil of fear tightened in Garrett's stomach.

A shift forward to the balls of his feet provided the corresponding _groans_ and _creaks_ that a trap-- armed and ready to fire at the slightest change of pressure-- would have. How had he been so blind? He scoured the room for a way out. _There has to be a way out_. There was _always_ a way out.

He should have known, should have _guessed_ that there would be some elaborate trap to catch him. People adapted-- they always did. How had he not _seen_ what he was walking into? Garrett looked back to the safe. Was it even worth breaking into, now? Perhaps if Garrett waited long enough, he could use the loot to bribe the house owner to let him go. Or, he could threaten them at arrow-point and take the gold without them even knowing. Another slight shift of his weight confirmed that escaping by himself was not an option. His legs burned and ached with the knowledge that if he moved an inch, he'd be killed. He put his hands on the painting, denying the fact that they were _shaking_. He triggered the mechanism that would lift the painting, then shifting his attention to the safe. He dialed the combination in, opening the door carefully and peering inside.

_Nothing. This job was a ruse._

Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door. Heavy and uneven, he couldn't have misplaced them if he tried. Garrett's heart constricted in his chest, and he pulled his bow from his back, it extending as he grabbed a Sawtooth arrow from his quiver. He primed the arrow, timing the approach of the patron with the rapid beating of his heart.

Before he knew it, the door had flown open, a crossbow bolt aimed at him from the doorframe. The person who followed made Garrett's blood boil. It was expected, which was why the fear coursing through is veins was not from the Thief- Taker General, but from the trap below his feet.

"Garrett, Garrett, Garrett," the General _tsked._ "Always making the same mistakes. They call you the 'Master Thief,' but a master would not blunder so _predictably_ so many times."

"The only mistake I've made is not killing you when I had the chance, it seems." _And a few other mistakes. Feels like a thousand._ The General chuckled humorlessly.

"You fancy yourself incapable of being brought down, don't you, Garrett?" The General moved to the left, closing the door behind him. "That trap contradicts the very notion."

"Everything can be contradicted. Exploiting things is what I do." The General's eyebrows raised in mock- amusement.

"You think you can get out of this alive, unscarred, do you? Your egotism is more confounding than I thought."

"I have a bow, and a particularly sharp arrow with your name on it, unless you want to retract _your_ ego and let me go."

"You're a coward, Thief. You wouldn't use that to harm someone if your life depended on it, which it does, at this point." Garrett raised the bow, pulling the arrow back and aiming for the General's head.

"I would reconsider, _General._ " Garrett struggled to control his breathing. His threats weren't working, and he could _feel_ the crossbow bolt honing its path to his flesh. Then, to his surprise, the Thief-Taker General dropped his arm to his side, disengaging his crossbow.

"Perhaps I was wrong about you, Thief." Garrett said nothing, keeping his face blank as his mind raced. Perhaps Garrett was wrong to judge the General as a non-threat.

"I don't catch your meaning," Garrett seethed.

"You think too much, and provide so little action. People will exploit it, as you exploit them." Garrett realized his mistake. The General's free hand had been wavering behind him, hidden from view. Garrett's eyes widened as the man brandished a pistol, the shot deafening as he darted away on impulse. The trap set off, a _snap_ barely being audible over the bullet discharge.

The pain hit Garrett as a wave, a sea thrashing him to oblivion. He blacked out, falling to the floor in agony; the shock of the impact violently pulled him back to consciousness, the _primal_ need to survive willing him to persist. The fading power in his eye made his head throb-- otherworldy, ancient power could not help him, no matter how strained he was.

"Do you _appreciate_ my new trap system, Garrett?" The Thief-Taker General circled the thief. Garrett's awareness ebbed and flowed with the rushing in his ears, his vision fading from shadow to light. He couldn't recall the last time he'd hurt so much-- specific points throbbed with every stiffening breath; one at his shoulder, one on his ribcage, another from his gut, the pain radiated into a veil that covered him. It was all he could do to grasp onto consciousness as desperately as he could, his limbs groggy and lethargic as he tried to rise.

"A remarkably simple design-- I created it myself." The _thunk_ of the General's steel-toed boot resonated as it came over one of Garrett's hands. "You see, the downfall of a mechanical trap is that wires can be cut-- the downfall of an electric trap is that the power can be taken away. This, however, is air and spring powered; there's only one way to set it, and one way to disengage it. Much like a mouse trap-- or in _your_ case, a _rat_ trap." The General backed away.

"Rats are dangerous, Garrett. They bring with them a plague that cannot be stopped--unless someone kills the source."

Garrett had never feared death-- he never feared the gallows. If someone was clever enough to catch him, all the power to them, then. What he did fear was losing his hands-- he treated them as carefully as the gold he lifted from the pockets of unsuspecting noblemen. They were his lifeline-- his pride, his greed, everything about him could be summed up within his fingers.

"Do you know what they used to do to thieves, Garrett, as punishment, before blackhanding was popular?" The Thief-Taker General moved toward Garrett, brandishing a butcher's cleaver as he knelt and put a hand over Garrett's left forearm. He was too weak to move away. "They cut off the thieves' hands."

Garrett's awareness was waning, the edges of his vision graying as the General spoke. His conscience _screamed_ at him to _move_ , but under the General's hand, he was helpless. As the blade came down, Garrett followed it, his attempts useless to stop it.

The blade met flesh, a sickening, wet sound as Garrett registered the pain.

_"NO!"_ Garrett _screamed_ , he writhed as the General released the hold on his arm. The thief curled in on himself, folding his arm to his chest, gripping _where his hand_ used _to be_ to try to staunch the flow of blood. Garrett was _sobbing_ , the repeated plea playing through his head and making it past his lips. _No. No no no no_ it couldn't be, it _wasn't happening._

Garrett wasn't aware of the _reason_ he staggered to his feet, the adrenalin raw and desperate as he dodged the General's lunge for him. Garrett swiped a foot under the General's braced leg, causing the loss of balance enough to allow Garrett time to attack. Without thinking, Garrett picked up the nearest thing to him--a letter opener on the desk-- and stabbed, wrenching it upward as it penetrated skin.

The General's eyes widened in shock, before the man's legs failed him and he fell, eyes blank as the life drained from them. Garrett stumbled back, his hand gripping his severed wrist again. The nearby desk caught him, yet as his balance was supported he could feel the weakness coming back into his limbs. There was _so much blood_ \-- Garrett wondered how much he could lose before he bled out.

His breaths were ragged, his side throbbing with every time he breathed. He looked down, willing himself to _stay awake--_ if he passed out, there'd be no waking up. What he saw filled him with dread, an emptiness that he dimly realized would never leave.

His hand-- detached, bloody, and _dead_ lay at the edge of the pool of blood it left when it was _taken_ from him.

Nausea roiled through his gut, his injuries aside-- Garrett retched as he staggered away. He focused his gaze on his way out, fumbling at the door when he reached the other end of the room.

The streetlights seemed too bright as Garrett dragged himself along the walls of back alleys and streets. He was leaving a trail behind him, and his vision tunneled as he made it to a fire basket. He'd need to stop the bleeding from his wrist, soon, or he wouldn't make it to the next district.

An iron rod lay in the basket, and it took every ounce of Garrett's strength to lift it from the pit. He took as deep of a breath as he could manage, and lay the glowing metal to where a hand _should_ have been.

The wound cauterized instantly, as the searing _agony_ that accompanied it brought Garrett to his knees with a cry. He tried to rise, to _keep going_ , but his pain won out and his adrenalin ran dry. He could see the eternal darkness, and welcomed it. He was nothing if he was not a thief. Without both of his hands he couldn't be. _So this is how it ends_.

***

Erin had run from _that night._ The night with death and screams and Orion and the Primal-- _Garrett--_ with the desperately worried and frightened look in his eyes and her own fear and pain they reflected.

Seeing Garrett so troubled and _vulnerable_ as green flashed and clouded from one of his eyes made her feel remorse; it was _his_ fault and _her_ fault they were here, that they both almost died, that the City was even more corrupted and sick than it was before.

A flash of irrational anger made her want to seek revenge on he who was able to leave-- only to further corrupt the power she so desperately wanted to destroy. The Master Thief had _used_ it, the very thing that was slowly destroying _her._

A flash of white, and Erin felt the energy slip away as her hand slipped from Garrett's. She was _free._

The desperate cry that tore from his lips as she fell, _again_ was nothing that she had heard before-- and she wasn't sure she wanted to ever hear it again. The claw had reached her hand just as she had accepted death; the burden was preferable to what she had gone through.

Erin regarded Garrett as she finished the climb-- she had the chance, she could _end him_ as he almost did her. The pang of remorse hit her again; he had come so far to save her-- and no wrong he had done was in light of purposeful.

She remembered his eyes as she begged for the claw in the moments before she fell to the ceremony room floor. They were clouded with fear, anguish, determination, _confusion_ \--he didn't know what was happening, _neither of them_ knew what was happening and he was caught between that and whether or not he had the ability to pull her back up. Would she have done the same thing? Would she have saved _him?_ There he lay before her, unconscious and so, so small that it would be _unfair_ , immoral to do what compulsions told her to. He had trained her, taught her, put up with every petty thing that she'd complicated things with.

_"Goodbye, Garrett."_

She had returned, shaking and emptied and _dirty_ to her hideout, secluding herself as she could finally be _alone_ for the first time in a year-- it felt like it had been decades. She slept, truly _slept_ until her exhaustion recovered enough to give way to nightmares.

It took weeks for Erin to take up a job again. Not from Basso, she didn't think she could face the man after all that had happened. She had a special contact from an underground thieves' guild that provided adequate pay with few questions asked. The assassin she was hired by eyed her every time she passed, yet she couldn't bring herself to approach them. Garrett had been angered by her... _alternate lifestyle_ , but all she could remember was the pain in his eyes. _Had I failed_ you, _Garrett?_

What truly defined a thief? What difference was stealing a life versus stealing a relic; thievery stole, _what_ you stole should have been of no matter.

Some nights, Erin would take to the rooftops, wandering the City as she beheld all, she came to realize, that she caused. The City, ever resilient as it was, was recovering, rebuilding. She stood speechless at the first _Wanted_ poster she saw-- Garrett's shadowed and scowling face was drawn, a reward offered-- the claim was plastered around every corner. For being such a creature of the shadows, the Master Thief was infamous. Erin smirked-- the fact that the Watch still wanted him so badly meant that he hadn't been caught. Erin figured that he never would be.

A cry jolted her from her thoughts. The City was full of screams and debacles, none of which were particularly worrisome. However, the noise was disconcerting to her. It seemed almost _inhuman_ \-- it stopped her in her tracks and filled her with dread. She'd only heard a similar sound one time before. All she could do was tell herself that she had misheard, and that it was nothing but two tavern-goers at one another yet again. Erin took to the rooftops, banishing the disturbed thoughts from her head.

Not ten minutes later, there was another cry-- such profound pain within it-- she stopped again, jaw dropping as she processed what she saw.

_Garrett_. The small form lay next to a fire basket in an alley, a visible trail of blood leading to him from the streets. Erin _wanted_ to be indifferent, to let him handle whatever went down on his own, but he was so _still_ , and she cared about the man-- the one who helped her through the toughest of times, who helped her put food in her stomach when she was near starving. Her personal grudges could wait.

Erin dropped from a roof onto a stack of crates, lightly landing on her toes before approaching Garrett. She covered her mouth in her shock.

Garrett was an unearthly pale-- moreso than a _ghost_ , Erin hadn't thought it possible. She gasped when her eyes followed the trail of blood to Garrett's hands-- now _his only hand_ \-- one had been cut off. The wound was partially cauterized, blood still oozing from it and pooling at his wrist.

"Garrett." Erin crouched, grabbing the thief's shoulders in an attempt to rouse him. The only reason she suspected that he still drew breath were the tremors that made their way through his bones, his breathing erratic and scarce.

"Garrett, you have to _wake up_."

Garrett once spoke of the possibility of losing one's hands. She had shuddered, the thought of losing her own hands the one thing she would ever admit to fearing. Garrett would be lost if he could not steal. It was all he knew, all _either_ of them knew.

"Wake _up_." Erin's voice faded into Garrett's awareness as an echo. A green glow flashed to white in his memory. A door in his head seemed to open of its own volition. It had kept things back that _he'd_ sooner forget. Garrett receded to the shadows, curling in their safety-- yet the voice persisted.

" _Wake up_." But what did that mean? Erin spoke to him as he _was_ awake-- " _Gods, your_ hand _Garrett."_ The past year caught up with him. He wanted _out._

"Get out of my head. Please." The plea came as a whimper, Garrett's battered body tensing for more pain to come.

"I'm not in your head, Garrett. I'm _right here_ , you're hurt, I need to get you to help, you have to _wake up!"_ Garrett was pulled from his fugue, if only for a moment. His fevered eyes met Erin's, the latter's wide and afraid and so _very blue_... _"Garrett."_ Awareness forced its way to the surface, regardless of how Erin's imaged rippled before his eyes, or how her voice sounded so far away and he was so cold and _tired..._

"Garrett, stay with me. Can you hear me?" Erin pulled him to a sitting position with remarkable ease. He hissed as his body was jarred, reflexively pulling his left arm to his chest.

"Erin. Leave, they'll be coming soon, the General, he..." Garrett looked down at his hand, eyes fogging as the realization hit him again. "I _killed him_ , Erin, and..." Erin moved forward, looping Garrett's good arm around her shoulders and pulling him to his feet. She braced herself, Garrett's body weight slight, yet dangerously approaching dead weight that she supported.

"Keep going, Garrett." _Stay with me, I can't carry you alone_. Stonemarket was still a few blocks away, and the Crippled Burrick farther than that. Basso wouldn't be happy to see either of them as they were, but there wasn't anywhere else they could go.

"It's gone, Erin." She grimaced, realizing with a shock that Garrett was _weeping_ \-- she'd never seen the man so much as shed a tear, and now he was crying as a child would. Garrett, Erin was sure, had never been a child in the first place.

Erin grunted as Garrett faltered, his feet falling from underneath him, nearly pulling her down with him.

"Garrett! Stay awake, I can't do this without you. We're almost there." Garrett dragged his feet, regaining them in time for them both to slip into the shadows as a patrol walked by.

"Just...leave me here." Garrett strained, his breath rapid and shallow. Erin said nothing, gritting her teeth at what Garrett _meant_. The Master Thief was not one for heroics. He wanted to be left behind because he truly wanted to die. Garrett wasn't a fighter, but under any other circumstances, he would fight to stay alive. Erin blinked back tears. _What has this year done to you?_

"Like hell I will." Erin made sure the guards were out of range, when she took Garrett's arm across her shoulders again. His consciousness was slipping, mumbled words turning into incoherencies.

_"Garrett!_ " She shook him, taking advantage of how his head snapped up in a startle. "Tell me about something. How's Basso?" Erin was desperate. Stonemarket was _so close_ , she could see the clocktower from the street they stumbled down.

"Jenivere was killed."

"That old Magpie? Basso hated that bird, anyway."

"No. It took him weeks to even consider getting a new messenger." Erin maneuvered them both into a shadowed back alley as two guards came around the corner, waiting for them to turn back on their rounds before continuing.

"I'm surprised he didn't settle for you. All you need is wings and you'd be the spitting image of old Jenivere." Garrett said nothing. Erin took the silence as her countdown. Garrett mumbled in his semi-conscious state, words turning to incoherencies. The Crippled Burrick was so _close_ , and between them and it were a thousand variables that could get both of them killed before Garrett's wounds could kill him.

Erin dragged Garrett around the corner to the Tavern, pulling through the back alley and through Basso's office door. She allowed herself a sole pant of relief as they stumbled into the fence's office.

"What the..." Basso turned, jaw dropping as his eyed leveled on the two thieves in his doorway. "Erin?" So Garrett had been right, Erin _was_ alive. He'd never admit it to anyone but the thief herself, _maybe_ , but he had missed the constant flow of her coming in, taking a job, engaging in a banter with either him or Garrett, then leaving. He had no idea what _her_ night life was like-- moreso her _entire_ life, but she was close to Garrett, and that was enough. A fence had no business if they asked too many questions.

The thieves that came through the Crippled Burrick all had one mask-- arrogance, but Erin's at that moment was gone. Basso had never seen the girl so _scared._ It was then that Basso realized who was slumped against her.

"Oh no."

"The General." Was all Erin offered.

"Did he..." Basso stepped forward, offering to help carry the thief.

"He's hurt, badly. The General cut off one of his hands, I don't know what else. He's lost a lot of blood, Basso."

"Bring him over here." Basso assisted in bringing Garrett to his bed. A low groan emitted from Garrett's throat, the sound repeating between the thief's shallow breaths.  Basso grabbed Garrett's left arm, gritting his teeth as he assessed the damage and elicited a cry from the thief.

"Where else is he hurt?" Erin shook her head.

"I don't know." Basso grimaced.

"There's cloth in the drawer on my desk." Garrett's arm had started bleeding again. "We need to staunch the flow of blood." As Erin handed the cloth to Basso, she walked around the bed to Garrett's other side. Her hands hovered over him, searching for any other injury.

"He took a hit to his shoulder--" Erin recoiled as Garrett hissed at her touch, "Another near his hip. I think he's suffered trauma to his ribs, as well."

"How much are his other wounds bleeding?"

"I don't know how deep they are, we need to get these layers off." Basso pulled a knife.

"If he lives through this, you're going to have to buy him new clothes." Erin scowled at Basso's attempt at humor.

***

Even under the warm, ambient glow of Basso's office candles, Garrett was so _pale_. Basso sat at his desk, anxiously tapping his feet as Erin paced. Garrett lay, deathly still, save for the cycles of him rousing from his pain induced unconsciousness and _screaming_ , incoherent things that Basso worried would tear Garrett apart more than his wounds would.

Erin took a damp cloth to Garrett's forehead as she elevated his arm.

"He's never going to heal if he keeps this up." Erin's voice was flat. Basso nodded, crossing his arms. He regarded the thick bandages that were wrapped around Garrett's wrist.

"It won't stop bleeding unless we stitch it shut."

"We'll need a real doctor for that, Basso. That, and something to give him for the pain. Do you know where we can find opium, poppies, anything that would act as a sedative?"

"The Trader out in the alley used to sell poppies-- Garrett used them for a time after he came back; he said it was something to do with the Primal and his ability to focus when he was on a job. Since Orion's Graven overtook the city, the Trader has left, and Garrett's quit using them." Erin's eyes were sad as Basso finished, looking down to the man she sat beside.

Erin had told herself that she was _through_. Garrett was no more a mentor to her than he was a friend. Thieves didn't have friends. She looked up to Basso, and reconsidered. Basso was a friend to them both-- and Garrett had risked his life to save her _and_ Basso's, as honestly and humbly as a Master Thief could manage. Erin put a trembling hand on the top of Garrett's head, brushing away the stray hair that clung to his face. She took a deep breath, and stood to face Basso.

"I know where to find opium. If you can find a doctor, we'll be set."

"Wait, Erin, where are you going?" Basso called after her as she made for the exit, opting to go through the window.

"I'll be back soon, Basso. Be ready with a doctor." Erin lifted herself through the open window, closing it behind her as she made for the streets.

"The door is _literally_ right there." Basso called after her, a hint of unease in his voice. "Be careful, Erin." He turned to his desk, pulling out his ledger of recent clients and contacts. There had to be somebody who would help them.

Erin's heart thudded uncomfortably in her chest, the thought of returning to such a disgraceful place putting her on edge. She promised herself she'd never go back, yet the familiar ambient red glow welcomed her soon enough. _The House of Blossoms._

Erin was able to slip into the Brothel unnoticed-- _Garrett would be surprised_. The cat-calls of the Baron's Watch-- _Dogs_ made Erin's anger flare. It seemed that some things-- most, in a place like the House of Blossoms-- never changed. As long as Madam Xiao-Xiao had business going through the City's underworld, there'd be no problem. Still, Erin didn't remember there being _so many_ guards-- had someone broken in?

The only thief in the city who could, probably did for the promise of good coin. The Child of the Shadows sure did make his mark.

As Erin skulked in between pools of light and through mists of overly-applied perfume, she made her plan.

There was a substantial Opium supply near the furnace room, enough to render the brashest of souls docile for weeks-- but she couldn't transport the amount they needed when it was in its liquid or gaseous form. She remembered how the House of Blossoms _got_ the Opium-- harvested poppies from Auldale. The shipments came in almost nightly, through a back alley shipping lane that connected to Madam Xiao-Xiao's office by a series of corridors. Erin had heard whispers of it in her time within the ranks of the Blossoms-- the opportunity to lift some of the goods for themselves the most interesting of ideas. _For a thief, the idea is golden_.

Erin slipped into Madam Xiao-Xiao's office. She searched for a password or a hidden switch, biting her tongue in anticipation. Erin froze when she heard footsteps, followed by the _creak_ of the door. Before she could dart away, a voice stopped her.

"Erin, I didn't expect to ever see _you_ here again." Erin straightened.

"Madam Xiao-Xiao. Always a pleasure."

"You've gotten past all of my guards-- and we've doubled the security since that _Garrett_ broke in."

"What can I say, I'm good at what I do."

"Last time I checked, you killed for a living. That is, after you killed one of our patrons."

"I have hobbies."

"You were trained by Garrett, weren't you? In thieving, that is. I don't think that man could kill if he was paid to." Madam Xiao-Xiao walked to one side of the room, eyeing Erin carefully.

"Who's saying so?"

"This City doesn't hiccup without word of it coming down here. The Thief-Taker General was _very_ telling of the tragedy at Northcrest Manor, at the fact that you _and_ Garrett had been admitted to the asylum, and about how he planned to kill our beloved Master Thief."

"If you've got a point, make it." Madam Xiao-Xiao chuckled mirthfully. She walked over to a nearby chair, sitting in it and crossing her legs. She pulled out a cigarette, lighting it before speaking again.

"Why are you here, Erin?" Erin had never feared the Madam, her apparent care for her Petals and Blossoms usually more comforting that dictatorial. All the same, Erin doubted Madam Xiao-Xiao would let her leave.

"I'm a thief, I steal."

"You would not have come back here if it were not something important to you. What has the Master Garrett gotten himself into, now?" Erin had to fight to cloak her shock.

"Who said that Garrett was important to me?" The lie stung. _He's one of the only people who is._ Madam Xiao-Xiao let out another humorless chuckle.

"You dress in similar clothing, you both hunt in the shadows but rarely take any prey while you're there-- and like I said, if something had not happened, it would be Garrett here, instead of you." Erin grit her teeth. Her eyes darted around the room; she calculated every way she could escape if she could come up with _just_ the right distraction...

"Don't bother trying to escape, I've already alerted the guards." Madam Xiao-Xiao's cool voice made her jump. Erin sighed.

"Garrett's hurt, badly. We need Opium to sedate him so that we can properly tend to his wounds. He'll die, otherwise." Madam Xiao-Xiao let a breath out through her nose with a smirk.

"Tell me why I should condone helping that overgrown raccoon. He caused havoc the last time he was here, and continues to among my girls even when he's not. People remember their fear, Erin, and a man of the shadows is the very embodiment of it."

"I'll pay you." Madam Xiao-Xiao _tsked._

"Gold does not concern me-- I run a Brothel, Erin. People pay gregarious amounts of coin just to descend below the City."

"What, then?" _Will I really do anything?_

"Be our informant-- tail questionable men...and women and see if they will pose a threat to us. If they will, I assume a paid assassin such as yourself will know what to do." Erin swallowed a lump in her throat. The idea of doing _anything_ for the House of Blossoms again made her stomach turn, but the thought of Garrett laying in Basso's room in _agony_ pressed her for time.  He had taught her how to escape-- she could figure out a way, eventually.

"Fine." Madam Xiao-Xiao nodded, standing and gesturing to a pile of crates.

"Take one, and you'll need syringes as well. Crush the poppy flower, and mix it with water, then use the syringe to inject it into the bloodstream. Just hope he doesn't become dependent on the stuff." Erin nodded, letting out a breath as Madam Xiao-Xiao left the room. Erin gathered the supplies she was given, her mind battling the matter at hand and the pact she'd just made with the House of Blossoms, _again._

***

Garrett _remembered_ \-- the pain, and the trauma, and the endless questioning and _interrogating_ \-- the memories were fresh, as if they'd happened days ago when it had been a _year._ He writhed under the phantom pain and _fire_ electroshock therapy shot through his body, the lethargic feeling of his limbs not working right afterward and the jittery, unbearable feeling of his hands shaking.

A phantom appendage throbbed, and brought back memories of falling, of being near to crushed and battered-- _almost_ fatally. Erin's words ghosted through his head. _Maybe it would have been better to die_.

The asylum was haunted-- not with the dead, not with the living, but some hybrid of the two that set Garrett on edge. He jumped at every shadow, every movement beyond the walls of his room that  would speak of pain and suffering and false senses of curing.

Eventually, after days or weeks or _months_ , Garrett couldn't tell-- he couldn't run or climb without his body trembling in protest. Whether it was from fear, or malnutrition and lack of movement, all Garrett was certain of was that, it was only getting worse. He needed to get _out_ , and he needed to get _Erin_ out and there were too many lights and too many people to spot him making an escape.

He feared that if he didn't act soon, then he wouldn't be able to make it to the front door.

The prison level was directly underneath the treatment wing, and Garrett flinched every time the ticking in the pipes would turn to _pounding_ or half-human cries wafted  up through the vents. In time, he couldn't discern whether the noises were actually there, or they were just in his own head, the ringing in his ears enough to drive him mad.

Garrett had nightmares-- of falling, of Erin falling, later of lurching blue creatures with no eyes and claws the size of his head-- he'd always wake up with the right side of his head throbbing and a searing pain behind his right eye-- he started to fear what he'd see if he looked in a mirror.

He started losing chunks of time-- his memories of the night before could be from a week or months or a _year_ ago; sometimes the name _Garrett_ or _Erin_ would drift through his mind unrecognized, before he'd panic and clutch them as tightly as he could. He forgot _why_ he was here, how did he _get_ here, and why did he flinch at the sound of footsteps down the breezeway or the incessant tapping noise in the pipes? He knew that he would forget _where_ he was, and _who_ he was before long. Garrett didn't sleep, afraid that if he fell to its depths, he'd wake up one of those _things_ \-- the demons of the prison level.

Garrett stole so he wouldn't forget-- _why_ he stole left himwhat seemed ages ago, all he knew was that it defined him, the weight of possessions not his were grounding him in his own being.

He could feel himself slipping-- _Garrett, I'm slipping--_ he had to claw his way to awareness every time he woke. Sleep was not of his volition, it was forced upon him.

_"The extraction isn't working, the girl's corrupting it!"_

_"What of the other thief? He too is attuned."_

_"Prepare him. We need the Primal. Its power."_ Garrett was taken, bound, and _trapped_ , fear only trickling as ice through his veins because he could not escape. The chair he was trapped in was cold, and the fluorescent lighting was even colder.  A doctor came to his side, leveling a syringe to Garrett's face. He struggled, knowing, helplessly in the back of his mind that it was futile. The doctor's assistant held him still as the needle hovered, inches away from his face.

_"No!_ " The pain made it seem that his head was splitting apart. His vision went white, his consciousness lost in a scream.

Garrett remembered the delirium of pain and the doctor's opium, keeping him quiet. His will to fight was drained by the way his head throbbed if he attempted to move the barest amount, and how his vision doubled and blurred so that vertigo would have floored him faster than the Night Warden would have.

He didn't trust his eyes-- they tricked and played games with him, seeing things that weren't there and that _couldn't_ be there. It wasn't long until the faceless-undead creatures surfaced in his hallucinations. They would come and fade, lingering in the corners of his cell-- watching him without eyes, yet _seeing_ him if by some unnatural force. He'd be too terrified to move, his throat too dry to make a sound and mind and body to sluggish to take any action.

The doctors would come in to drug him. He finally reacted to his fear as the one who entered his cell morphed before his eyes into one of those _things_ , claws glimmering in the moonlight more dangerously than the syringe they held. Garrett backed away, lashing out at the figure before him.

"Garrett? It's okay, it's only me." Basso's voice echoed through his head. It was a lie, a ruse, it had to be. His hand unexpectedly throbbed-- he looked down, surprised it was _there_ , but it always had been.

Another figure appeared at his side, gripping his shoulder.

"Erin?" The syringe wavered above his arm. Despite himself, Garrett struggled. The sting of the needle came as expected, his waning strength being driven away by the opium in his blood.

"Sleep, Garrett." _Wake up, Garrett_. The former was easy, the latter was so, so very hard.

***

Basso absentmindedly stroked his Magpie's feathers as it perched on his hand

"You're not doing this right, you know-- you're supposed to try to eat my fingers," Basso  mumbled as the bird cooed. He sighed, pulling out his watch and checking the time. Erin had left without a word or reason; Basso didn't know if she was coming back. He looked back to Garrett, startled to realize that the thief stared back, his half-lidded eyes bleary.

"You're awake." _Finally_. _It's been days, Garrett. We thought we were going to lose you._

"Thanks to you," Garrett rasped. He couldn't tell if the hoarseness of his voice was from disuse, or his agonized cries-- he knew he had been.

Basso caught the _spite_ in Garrett's voice. He would have just let it go, thinking it to be in the thief's nature to be utterly cold-- but days of no sleep caught up with him quickly.

"Erin didn't have to carry you back here, I didn't _have_ to provide you shelter, Erin didn't have to go back to the House of Blossoms to get opium so you wouldn't go into shock, and we haven't _had_ to sit as your vigil to make sure you wouldn't _die_!" Garrett closed his eyes, his brow furrowing as he took in Basso's words. He was so still that Basso was sure he had fallen asleep again, when Garrett spoke, his eyes opening to stare at the ceiling.

"I told her to leave me."

"And when have I ever listened?" Erin's voice sounded from the opposite corner of the room. Basso jumped, his Magpie startling and taking flight, taking its place near Basso's desk.

"Taffing _thieves_ \-- why can't you just knock and come through the door like normal people?"

"Are you referencing yourself as normal, Basso? Low standards, these days." Erin walked forward, coming to Garrett's side.

"How are you feeling?" _Like I got my hand cut off._ A look into Erin's eyes stopped the retort from leaving Garrett's tongue. So blue-- the color of sorrow, of something cold, but of something deep and unknown. Once so full of spite and hatred when his eyes met them, now they were-- _scared, concerned?_ The foreign feeling of his chest tightening in grief and remorse robbed him of his words. He worked his elbows underneath himself, attempting to sit up.

Garrett hissed as pain came over him as a thousand arrows to flesh. Basso put a hand on one of his shoulders, torn between helping Garrett and urging him to lie down again.

"Take it easy, Garrett. You lost a lot of blood-- a wound to your shoulder and one to your hip-- whatever hit you only managed to graze your ribs; the impact was enough to fracture a few of them." Basso bit his tongue as he felt Garrett's shoulder blades move under his hand. Under the candlelight and void of his normal layers, Garrett was paler than the dead and looked the part-- he was so _small_ , the past year or so hadn't done him any favors.

Garrett choked back a gasp as every ache and pain made itself apparent. All the same, he held out his arms to Erin, who sat at the corner of the bed. Erin leaned forward, tentatively mimicking Garrett's movements. Erin felt the shaking of Garrett's chest-- she would have thought it to be the result of his strain, when her shoulder registered the dampness that seeped through her shirt. She realized, shocked that Garrett was _weeping_.

"I'm so sorry." His apology had never been uttered-- it was long overdue and most likely unwelcome, but his guilt outweighed his stubbornness to remain the stoic and passive shadow. Their embrace was short, however they both felt the weight of it. Garrett rested his hands--- _hand_ on Erin's shoulder, pulling his other arm back to his chest, gritting his teeth and how much it throbbed. Garrett looked to Erin's eyes, to which Erin had to look away. She'd never really _seen_ him after the accident-- the Primal's green glow making Garrett's eyes eerie and full of guilt. Garrett may have gotten away from the Baron after the accident, but they both had scars to show for their troubles.

"Do you feel like eating? I brought some food from the market." Erin spoke, hoping to break their silence. Garrett took his hand from Erin's shoulder, folding his arms around one another.

"I'm not hungry." His answer came as a mumble.

"That's utter _Burrick_ shit, and you know it." Basso scoffed. Both Erin and Garrett cast bewildered looks in his direction. "You've been out for days, and how many days before that had it been since you ate something?" Garrett averted his eyes. "You look like a skeleton, Garrett. Eat something, please." Erin offered him a bowl of hot broth, and though his gut roiled with the pain he was in, he complied.

***

The days progressed in a blur, and Garrett was caught between the  attempts Basso and Erin would make to keep him from pain, which would lead to him sleeping and dreaming, having _nightmares_ of Moira and hands, a thousand pulling him to oblivion, or his lack thereof that would lead him to being trapped, unable to escape.

Sometimes, he would dream of having both of his hands, and the reality that he met when he woke would pull him down farther into the pit he could feel forming in his psyche. Would he ever recover? Would the pain--not only physical-- ever stop?

It was seldom that Erin or Basso would coax him out onto the streets again, however one night seemed to be the darkest in a while, so Garrett complied. He walked beside Erin, a cloak wrapped around his shoulders and a hood covering his eyes. His normal attire was both ruined and impossible for him to put on by himself, so he settled for pauper's cloths and a heavy cloak that Erin managed to lift from a nearby store. He folded his arms at his chest, hiding his grief beneath a veil of black. Neither of them said anything, before Erin caught him staring up at the clock tower.

"Climb on my back." Erin turned around, holding her hands behind her, beckoning Garrett.

"You're not giving me a piggy back ride." Garrett folded his arms.

"Do you want to visit your clock tower, or not?" Erin gave Garrett a skeptical look, shrugging.

"You said you couldn't carry me." Erin sighed, looking down for a moment.

"Your dead weight I can't carry. I'm not doing this alone." Erin turned again, insisting that Garrett comply.

"Who said that I want to go back up there?" _As a reminder of all I no longer have._

"Considering it's your _home_ \-- and I figured you would sleep better in your own bed, with the ticking of the clock as background noise." Garrett said nothing. "I know you haven't been sleeping, Garrett." _When I do, it's nightmares and flashbacks and_ pain. "Some time at home will do you good." Garrett sighed, walking toward Erin.

"You'd better not fall."

When they reached the top of the clock tower, Erin panted, leaning against the window frame, yet not saying anything as Garrett untangled his limbs from clinging to her on their ascent. Heights had never troubled him, until he could no longer defy them. He folded his arms underneath his cloak again, covering them.

Garrett walked around his hideout as if in a dream. It had been ages since he'd been so far above the city-- the methodical _ticking_ of cogs in the clock was already lulling him to sleep. He hadn't climbed, or run, or really _moved_ since-- _that night_ , _is that what he called it, now?_ Nonetheless, Garrett felt exhaustion pulling at his every bone, his eyelids heavy. He drifted to his bed, barely able to undo his cloak before collapsing onto his bed, pulling his knees to his chest and shutting out the world-- the steady rhythm of the clock soothing his inner turmoil, if only for a fleeting time.

Waking when there was still daylight painting-- _or bleaching--_ the City was foreign to Garrett. When he woke, sunlight poked through cracks in the repaired walls of the clock tower and poured through the window at the top of the stairs. He listened for movement in the hideout-- he was alone. Erin must have left sometime while he slept.

Once a place so hallowed by him to be a sanctuary, felt more like a _prison_ , and such a painful reminder at what he had lost that it made his chest feel like it would crush itself in his grief. He sat up, hugging his knees and burying his face there. Garrett lifted his head, resting his chin on his knees, realizing he was _crying, again_ \-- hot tears wetting his eyes and falling down his face.

_I can't do this_. Garrett looked down to his forearms, straightening them in front of him. He untied the leather bracer he'd neglected to remove before he fell asleep-- the night before, the day before, how long had he been sleeping? Without the promise of work or a schedule to roam the City by, days and nights ran together in timeless blurs.

Bandages still covered half of his forearm and the wrist now void of a hand. For the first time in his life, he had _no_ idea what he would do. Thieving was all he knew how to do-- he couldn't make a living doing anything else.

"Finally, you're awake." Erin leapt over the railing of the stairs, coming around the corner with a bundle in one of her hands. Garrett looked away, ashamed of his emotion. He cleared his throat.

"Finally?"

"You slept an entire day-- well, through the night, a day, another night... you get the point. You must be hungry." Garrett's eyes were distant as he registered the time. Erin handed him a piece of bread. "I got some stuff from the market. Eat."

"Bought it, or stole it?" Garrett managed a smirk.

"What do you think?" Erin sat down next to him, ignoring the wet of his eyes and the muted light behind them. Garrett took a bite of the bread, chewing slowly and forcing himself to swallow. He could feel Erin's eyes on him, and figured they would stay there until he finished.

When he'd finished the bread Erin gave him, she handed him an apple. Garrett backed away the slightest amount, but before he could refuse, Erin grabbed his hand, opening it and putting the apple in his palm.

"You've lost more weight than I have since the accident. You haven't been eating, and that piece of bread is hardly enough, no matter how malnourished you are."

"I'm not..."

"Please, Garrett."  He caught the barest hint of desperation in her voice. The look in her eyes reminded him all too much of when she fell. It _was_ desperate, scared, angry-- Garrett cowered farther into his mind in the face of it. The slight nod of his head affirmed his compliance.

After a moment, Erin handed him a water canteen, to which he instinctively reached for with his left hand, stopping midway and letting his arm drop to his lap.

"I'm sorry." Erin stammered. Garrett only shook his head, setting his apple down and taking the water.  Then, he stood, making his way to the railing that divided his gallery from the workings of the clock tower. Absentmindedly, he looked to the clock, its ticking providing little comfort.

He lost track of the seconds that ticked by before Erin came from behind him.

"You've been having nightmares."

"So have you, I'm sure." _Because of me. Because of that forsaken night and the Baron and his Primal._

"What do you dream about?"

"If I would have known this would turn into a therapy session then I wouldn't have let you take me up here." He wanted to be _away_ , hidden and ready to move with the shadows that flickered in the din of the flames that so fruitlessly tried to light the night.

"You kept Basso awake with your cries. He'd never say so, but he looked nearly as tired as you were." Garrett paused, a pang of remorse making him sigh.

"It depends. Sometimes they're of falling-- of the night of the accident, having both of my hands, and then having to fight or escape, and not having one of them, or either of them... sometimes I'm lost in a labyrinth of Primal-grown Poppies, those monsters in the bowels of Moira coming after me..." Garrett froze, sensing how Erin had clenched her fists and grit her teeth.

"You have nightmares of those monsters I created."

"It wasn't you, Erin. It was..."

"The Primal. Right." _My compulsion and anger is what led to those things._ "They almost killed you, Garrett." Garrett said nothing, only casting an empty gaze back to the clock above them. It was a while before Garrett spoke again:

"Do you know why I'm so against you killing?" Garrett's voice was quiet. _Killing, in general?_

_Because it was something I could do that you couldn't. Because you think you're better than me, whether it be in skill or virtue. I trusted you and you threw my attempts at being_ great _away._

"No." Garrett's eyes flicked to her, his mouth pulled into a grimace.

"I've been there before, Erin. I have killed. It... changes you, in a way that is not understandable."

"It's not how much you steal, it's _what_ you steal, I know." Erin chose her words carefully. If the argument escalated, Garrett would shut down and she'd be left with silence, _again._

"Taking a life isn't just taking loot-- to feel life slip away... it's like losing part of yourself in the process."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I took the claw that night for a reason."

"Garrett..."

"I took the claw because..." Garrett paused, taking a deep breath. _Why was it so_ hard _to talk about this?_ "I took a job once, and it happened to be an assassination. Small, quiet, and in my arrogance I thought it would be no harder than stealing coin from someone's purse. I... I couldn't sleep for days, _weeks_ afterward, all I could think about were the person's eyes. They were afraid, angry, _betrayed_ , and lost before the light went out of them. I hated myself for that job. It made me a monster, something that I never wanted to be. I've been down your path before. The shadows may be dark but that, that's darker than anything, and not everyone finds their way out again."

"What happened at the manor was both of our faults," Erin offered.

"Can you take me back down?" Erin sighed, nodding. Garrett crossed the room again, pulling his bracer over the bandages again and tying it, before slipping into his cloak again and meeting Erin by the window.

They reached the street level in silence. Garrett nodded in thanks, turning to walk through a nearby alley.

"Garrett?" Erin started to follow, when Garrett stopped.

"I just need to be alone for a while." Erin paused, torn between arguing with him that _it wasn't safe_ and letting him go, she grit her teeth.

"I'll be at Basso's. Be careful." _Don't do anything rash._ The look in Garrett's eyes made her doubt whether he would or not.

Garrett continued on his course, the old Chapel not far from his sights.

***

Garrett sat with his head bowed, staring down his arms and to what lay at the end of them. The old chapel was still, the only noise resonating came from rats roaming in the shadows. He'd never been one to believe in much of anything-- yet the old, abandoned holy place provided some semblance of comfort. Perhaps his self-imposed disbelief offered him a place to be alone and away from prying eyes in a building others would find sacred.

"I doubt you are here to pray." Garrett closed his eyes, letting out a sigh as he listened to the Queen of Beggars' approach.

"It's been a long time since this place has been deemed sacramental."

"As it's been a long while since you came here to ask for guidance."

"Who said I'm here to talk?"

"You have not eaten, or slept-- your vulnerability trembles within your bones. Your disposition is not sound-- you are lost, child." Garrett looked away as the Queen of Beggars eyed him-- her uncanny, empty stare seeing through him.

"There were once many faiths that took up these walls-- so much so that there were wars fought in their names. Those who were lost found a purpose, even with the brutality and cruelty of the holy wars."

"I don't catch your meaning." Garrett was ready to leave the chapel, and the Queen of Beggars and her cryptic words, when she continued.

"The Pagans and the Hammerites, they were called-- the City was divided, between those who believed, and those who submitted." Garrett grumbled in his impatience. He stood.

"Between the two sides were always heretics-- those who dared not become entangled in hundreds of years' worth of struggle. Thieves, liars, murderers-- all the same in the eyes of the Hammers, _and_ the Pagans."

"Nothing has changed, then. Religions fight wars, and some don't want anything to do with them." Garrett turned, making his way to the door, a grimace on his face.

"The name _Garrett_ has changed." Garrett stopped. "You found a particularly interesting piece upon your return to Moira, did you not?"

"A mechanical eye." Garrett whispered, facing the Queen of Beggars in his bewilderment.

"I suggest you do some research into its history. You may be surprised in what you find."

"Is that all? There's nothing left for me but old legends about an automaton's eye?"

"You came seeking answers-- there you will find them. Child of the Shadows..." The Queen of Beggars walked toward him, grasping his left arm with both of her hands. "There is much potential for you, even now." The emptiness on the end of his wrist weighed on him, threatening to drag him to the ground and the underworld beyond. He pulled away.

"I'm not...." Garrett willed away the emotions roiling inside of him, "A thief anymore-- so which side am I on?" _Am I forsaken?_

"You will find out, in time." The Queen of Beggars turned away from him, returning to her chambers and leaving him alone again. He suddenly felt tired-- the duress of his self-neglect coming over him as a heavy veil. Garrett shook his head, willing away his lightheadedness and pulling his cloak around his shoulders, folding his arms underneath it once again.

The night was bitter as he stepped outside, and snow had started falling in buckets and blowing in flurries across the streets. The Watch was sparse, that much Garrett was grateful for. He kept his eyes on his feet, worried that if he caught site of the rooftops he once so deftly climbed upon, he'd fall apart. Erin seemed convinced that he could manage climbing with only one hand-- if only it were so simple.

He stopped on his way back the Crippled Burrick-- there was a part of him that wanted to curl into a corner on the frozen streets of the City-- soon after, his suffering would end. The Queen of Beggars and her words to him stayed with him, however. There was a library nearby-- undoubtedly there had to  be _something_ he could use to clarify and enlighten him-- it could provide the answers and connections between the mechanical eye he found at Moira, ancient holy wars, and the name he bore. _Garrett._

It took endless nights and a thousand questions from Basso and Erin about _where he had been_ and _why he needed a mechanical eye_ , but Garrett finally found the answers he sought.

He learned of _who_ the Old Gods were said to be, how Pagans worshipped the Trickster and its demons, while the Hammerites fought to stop them. He learned of the Keepers, and how they skirted past society as a shadow-- a band of thieves who observed and prophesized for the world to come.

It was in such information that he learned of Garrett, the One-Eyed Thief, he who left the Keepers, only to be thrust back into their folds as reluctantly as he himself was to submit to the Baron or Orion or any of the fanatics in the City.

The Trickster had taken Old Garrett's eye as a sacrifice to their power-- _lore, myth, it had to be--_ and the Keepers had replaced Old Garrett's eye with a mechanical one.

Garrett stopped-- metal replacing flesh? Could it be done? As he cradled the age-old mechanical eye in his hand, he remembered-- there was at least one man in the City who would have the ability to build a hand from metal. Garrett had stolen for him before. On a whim, but with an amount of certainty that drove him forward, Garrett headed for Ector's.

***

Ector looked up in surprise, gaze blank as he tore himself away from his work. Garrett watched the man's face change as he was looked over. He averted his eyes.

"Master Thief." When Garrett said nothing, Ector added, "You are not well."

"I've had better days." Garrett wrapped his cloak tighter around his arms. The empty place where flesh should have been still threatened to swallow him whole.

"How's your tin man?" Garrett nodded to the figure, who now sat next to Ector at his workbench. As unnerving as it was, Garrett couldn't summon the energy to find it so. Ector regarded the thief for a moment, before sighing and pulling off his glasses.

"Finished, thanks to you. He makes a fine companion on lonely nights such as these." Something was wrong, very, _very_ wrong. Devoid of his bow and the majority of his leather, Garrett looked so _small._

"I need to ask a favor, Ector."

"What'll it be?" Garrett sighed, blinking past-- _tears, those weren't_ tears _that formed in his eyes._ He shifted so that his cloak rested over his shoulders, extending his left arm from where it was crossed. Ector gasped.

"They took it." Garrett tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "In times of old, they used to cut off thieves' hands for their crime." _Now I think I'd much rather prefer the gallows._

"I don't see how I can..." Ector paused, following Garrett's fixed gaze on the automaton.

"It can move, can't it? Like a real human. The hardware I stole for you was as intricate and advanced as a flesh-and-blood human being."

"I'm not sure I follow." Ector stood, his gaze wary.

"I know what you're capable of engineering. I stole a hand for you, myself." Ector's eyes widened.

"Master Thief, the automaton may be advanced, but what you ask of me is nigh on _impossible_. Deus Ex Machina-- god in the machines, I am not able." Garrett moved forward-- if the man was not so small and _broken-looking_ , Ector would have feared for his safety. All things considered, the blade that Garrett procured from the folds of his cloak glimmered dangerously.

"I know you can."

"Even if I had the materials-- the human hand is hard enough to replicate, but fusing that replication with the _thousands_ of connections and musculature of human flesh would be too hard. Besides, opening your body to such foreign material would be an invitation for infection and other complications.

"You know human anatomy inside and out. I've seen those automatons-- fluid and complex enough to pass for a human form."

"It's... _unethical_ , Master Thief. To take such risks on a human being. Robots are one thing, but human's have _life_ that automatons do not. One mistake, one slip of my own hand, and replacing yours would take that rite away from you."

"I will give you _anything_." Garrett spoke through his teeth, his hand slamming the knife flat onto the table. Ector jumped back. "Any payment you seek, it'll be yours." Ector's brow furrowed.

"It's not the compensation I'm worried about, Master Thief. It's... _you_. I cannot be responsible for murder."

"You're afraid of losing a valuable asset. I'm touched, Ector, but I'm nothing if I don't have both of these." Garrett held up his hand, flexing his fingers before balling them into a fist. Ector just stared at the man in disbelief.

"You are more than what you steal, Master Thief." The man before him was beyond counsel. The circles under his eyes were more than kohl, and there was a flatness to his eyes that reminded Ector of a withering plant, _dying_ even as one attempted to help it live. Ector chose his words carefully; with every passing moment he became more and more uncertain of whether or not the thief would take his blade to himself. "Besides, the hand of my automaton is drastically simplified from the workings of a human hand, and I don't have the materials I need to redesign and make a new one." Garrett's hand went into one of his pouches, resurfacing wrapped around something. He held it in front of Ector.

Despite himself, Ector took the thing, poring over it as he realized what it could do.

"What is this? The number of lenses and inner mechanics are fit enough to be..."

"A mechanical eye. Someone once used it as a substitute for a human eye-- it had even better capabilities. The technology is out there, Ector."

"Even if it _was_ possible..."

"I can get you the materials."

"Where?"

"I know people. Is this your agreement?" Ector sighed. He turned to his bookshelf, pulling the volumes on human anatomy he had so vivaciously pored over as he began his research. They weighed heavy in his arms with dread.

"I'll make a list. Come back in a few days." Garrett said nothing, only nodding before turning and disappearing through the door, as quietly as he'd come.

***

Garrett had retrieved all of the supplies Ector asked for, much to the engineer's partial dismay. The task before him made his blood run cold, yet the conviction in Garrett's eyes assured him, there would be no other way to handle their situation.

As Garrett untied his cloak and pulled off his shirt, as Ector bid, the latter regarded the thief with a considerate eye.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Master Thief?" Garrett said nothing, only eyeing the engineer with an icy stare, his right eye a haunting shade of green and blue. "Very well then. I've prepared a table-- it's not the most sterile place in the world, but it will suffice." _I hope._

"There are no clean places in this city," Garrett mumbled, sitting on the table, before lifting his legs onto the surface as well. Ector had his back turned, preparing his instruments and the Hand-- it glimmered, an almost frightening obsidian chrome in the candlelight. Absentmindedly, Garrett wondered what it would look like under the harsh electric lighting of the Baron's keep. _What would you say about this, Northcrest? Melding people_ with _automaton._ _Progress._

Ector turned, moving toward Garrett as he sat. He felt exposed underneath Ector's lamp, set up to hang above his _operating table_. Ector paused for a moment, before speaking:

"You have beautiful hair, Master Thief." Garrett blinked, rendered speechless by the spontaneity of the statement. "I'm sorry, I just... I haven't ever seen it before." Garrett rubbed his thumb over the long, braided hair.

"Not many do."

"It's an honor, then."

"It's just hair, Ector."

"You're handing your life to me-- nothing is _just_ anything, Master Thief." Garrett sighed, lowering himself to lay on his back.

"Just get the job done."

"As you wish. I assume I will not have to outline the importance of me putting you under for this?" Ector held a syringe. Garrett grit his teeth. A slight nod of his head was all Ector received. Garrett focused on the beams that formed the rafters above them. His heart thudded in his chest, resonating in his ears so much that he almost missed Ector's reassuring comment.

"Just breathe, Master Thief. Relax." Garrett felt a sting in the crook of his arm, and soon the rafters turned into a kaleidoscopic web, his vision doubling, blurring, and finally fading as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Garrett woke within a dream. Shadows flared and fogged around him. He sat up, looking down at his hands. His left gleamed with an unnatural shine, moving as fluidly as his right, but still feeling a separate entity from himself. He felt his metal fingertips with those of his right hand, the metal cold and smooth and _inhuman_.

A sudden flame was lit to his left, a figure standing near it, its arms crossed. A man in a hooded cloak with remarkably familiar clothing stood, staring at him with a face obscured by his hood.

"Being part machine-- how does it feel?"

"Who are you?" The other let out a humourless chuckle.

"I'm surprised you don't recognize me. Forged from words of generations and the inventions of fanatical men, I'd assume you'd figure out as much, considering you have my eye." A flash of green shone from beneath the stranger's hood. Garrett's jaw dropped, despite himself.

"It can't be."

"The one-eyed thief-- yourself in every other sense of the word. Except for now, I have only one eye, and you have only one hand. Now the term 'blackhand' will be literal for all intensive purposes."

"You're..."

"Honestly, I know you're being sedated with some pretty strong stuff, but at least cut the melodrama. You know who I am."

"You're Garrett."

"As are you."

"Why are you here?" _In my head, in my dreams?_

"Our paths are now parallel in more ways than one." The one-eyed thief pulled down his hood, and two dichromatic pairs of eyes leveled at each other. "You know of the dawn of industrialism, as your City tends toward more and more with every day. We share the same abilities, the same life, and now the same bonds of flesh and machine."

"I thought you weren't fond of all this Keeper mysticism." Young Garrett gasped as his hand started _throbbing_. He was waking up.

"Times change, as you too well know. You have the power and the knowledge to lead this City into the Metal Age, Garrett."

"History repeats itself."

"It always does." Garrett watched as the spitting image of himself faded before his eyes. The candle he had lit in his wake seemed to brighten, giving light to forms that turned into Ector's office.

Garrett's eyes fluttered open. His vision swam as he regained his senses, Ector's voice ringing in his ears before the world tentatively focused.

"Master thief, you're awake. How do you feel?" Garrett swallowed, his throat scratchy and his mouth feeling like cotton. There was a dull ache in his left arm. Judging by how groggy he felt, Garrett guessed that the pain would have been multiplied ten-fold had he not been given Opium to dull it.

"Did it work?" Garrett rasped. He blinked slowly as he looked to Ector. Ector allowed himself a smile of relief.

"You tell me." Garrett looked down, lifting his arms to hover above his face. His left felt heavier than was natural, the metal undoubtedly weighing it down. Garrett squinted as his sight wavered, focusing all of his energy into his hands. Tendrils of pain shot through his left arm as tendons stretched and newly bonded connections between metal and bone and muscle were pulled. Both sets of fingers moved in unison. Garrett choked back a cry of disbelief as his mouth opened in awe.

Involuntarily, tears fell from Garrett's eyes. He had both of his hands again. It would be a long while until he could use them as he once did, but the fact that he _could_ filled him with such an unexplainable feeling, that he wept. He struggled to rise, grunting and shaking as his vision dangerously veered.

"Master thief, you must rest..." Ector froze as Garrett's arms wrapped around him.

"Thank you, Ector." Ector sighed, writing off the thief's outburst of compassion to be both from the trauma that had been done to him, and a side effect of the Opium. Still, Ector knew how important hands were to a thief, _especially_ such a Master Thief. Ector patted Garrett's back, easing the thief back to a prone position as he fell to sleep again.

"You're welcome."

It was a few days before Ector let Garrett go, the engineer insisting that Garrett rest in his living space and eat his food. The thief was restless, yet there was something that kept him in Ector's workshop. Staring at the metal of his new hand, he didn't want to face the City with it. Old Garrett's words echoed through his head. _You will lead this City into the Metal Age_ \-- what could such a thing possibly mean? Garrett wasn't much of a leader; his charisma was about as refined as Basso's grace.

***

When Garrett returned to the Crippled Burrick, Basso was in his office, rooting through countless documents that littered the room. The Fence mumbled to himself, words running together as he lost himself in his train of thought. Garrett doused the candle in the far corner of the room, the strange sensation of-- _feeling_ things through metal still strange to him. Basso noticeably tensed, but didn't turn.

"I still haven't heard from him, Erin."

"I have." Garrett quipped, folding his arms.

_"Garrett!_ " Basso yelled. Garrett ducked as Basso's pickle jar flew at him, the glass shattering as it hit the wall behind him. Basso's eyes were livid.

"Nice to see you, too." Garrett shifted his weight.

"Where the hell have you been? And if you give me that 'I don't know' bullshit, I have plenty of pickle jars."

"It's a long story."

"A long story, he says. Well, it's been an even _longer_ one for Erin and I, we've been looking e _verywhere_ for you-- you slink off in the night without a word, in such a bad state--which you still look like shit, by the way-- and stay gone for a _week?_ We had thought you had..." Basso stopped, his anger making way for grief as tears formed in his eyes. Though his eyes were wet, he let none of his tears fall. Garrett cast his gaze to his feet, suddenly feeling very-- was it guilt, he felt?

"What happened, Garrett?"

"You're not going to like it." Basso's eyes bored into Garrett as he held out his hands, thick bandages still covering where metal melded with flesh and halfway up his forearm. Basso stifled a gasp, moving toward Garrett faster than he'd imagined Basso could move.

"What the..."

"Remember Ector, the client you sent me to meet? He made an automaton, I even stole a mechanical hand for him once. He gave me one in return."

"Garrett..."

"What, Basso? Are you going to argue that it's not natural, that it's not _right_ because of that? Neither is the compulsive desire to steal, but that's never stopped anyone." Basso said nothing. "It was tearing me apart, Basso." Garrett's voice dropped.

"Do you really think this was a good idea?"

"Probably not, but I couldn't live with the alternative."

"When people see you, they're going to..."

"When have I ever cared about what others say about me?"

"This kind of technology has never been seen before, Garrett. The Watch will want to find you..."

"I don't get caught." Basso sighed, gritting his teeth.

"You getting caught is the reason we're in this situation and you have metal where your hand used to be." Garrett turned, heading for the window, wanting to diffuse the situation as quickly as he could. "Garrett, wait." Basso moved after him. "It's my fault, all of this. I should have known the job was a ruse, that's the duty of a fence, and I failed you in that. But you getting caught-- that's an entirely different story." Garrett paused, closing his eyes in remorse. "How did a Master Thief like you get to being caught in the first place?"

"The Thief-Taker General's trap..."

"Something you've never seen before, you told me. You used to be able to detect a trap a mile away. Then you walk into the General's property and fall into his plan?"

"It's happened before."

"That was different, Garrett."

"I felt something changing in this city, in the air we breathed. Maybe something like this was it." Garrett held out his hands to Basso, who looked between the two in awe and apprehension. Basso sighed.

"Just don't let that shiny new... thing of yours draw too much attention. Your glow-in-the-dark eye is bad enough." Garrett snorted. Perhaps it'd finally help him see some light.

***

It was weeks before scar tissue formed and his hand was usable, trainable. The shock of such a foreign body against bone was jarring at first, yet with each day Garrett came to be used to it, the difference as natural as the movement of his other hand. He crafted new clothing and equipment for himself, and one night set out for the Crippled Burrick, a strange excitement coming over him.

"Have any jobs, Basso?"

"I could name a few." Garrett smirked, hearing the debriefing with anticipation that made his fingers twitch. He had slowly been rebuilding himself, and now it w as finally paying off.

He tentatively took to the rooftops, reveling in the _freedom_ it brought him. The sun set as he looked over the City. The zenith of the moon would be the dawn of his rebirth-- the redefinition of what it took to be a Master Thief, and with that the redefinition of the City. The Metal  Age would come upon them during that dawn, and as metal was bonded to Garrett's flesh, as the Garrett before him, he would welcome it with what he'd always do.

Garrett took to the shadows. The night was his to steal.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, my inspiration for this fic was from the fact that Garrett's all about his hands (for good reason). I'm also a fan of Deus Ex: Human Revolution, and wanted to play with the idea of Garrett having mechanical appendages/augmentation-like things, and since the first Garrett had a mechanical eye, it would be interesting to have reboot!garrett have a mechanical hand. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! Don't hesitate to comment and review!


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